Cuban Missile Crisis

Some men flirt with greatness, ogle it, order it a drink, hold it momentarily in their hands only to have it slip through their fingertips. They burst onto the scene like fireworks, briefly illuminating the night sky with feats of grandeur only to slowly, silently dissipate before our eyes. This, I fear, is one of those men.

Submitted for the approval of the blogosphere society, I call this story, "The Ballad of Alexei Ramirez."

To call Ramirez's rookie year a success is to practice the art of understatement. A breakout star for the Chicago White Sox in 2008, he hit .290 with 21 homeruns and 77 RBIs to finish second in Rookie of the Year voting. But the essence of Alexei laid not in his statistics. To watch him play was to grasp a truth not seen on the scoreboard, a beauty not found in the box score.

Alexei Ramirez had the magic.

Nicknamed "The Cuban Missile," a flare for the dramatic followed him like a joyous shadow. And if nicknames are a vital key to success, Ramirez was off to an absurdly awesome start. He smacked four grand slams that season, an AL record for rookies, the final one on September 28 to secure a one-game tiebreaker against the Twins.

I remember that homerun vividly. I remember his arms shooting into the sky as he ran towards first. He knew. I remember the euphoric crowd leaping to its collective feet. They all knew.

Little did they know.

"I'm the man. Baseball is easy."
That shining moment was two seasons ago. In the fantasy build-up to 2009, ESPN's Matthew Berry called Ramirez "a special player." He hit .277 with 15 homeruns and 68 RBIs. Decent numbers, to be sure...but something was missing. The buzz was gone.

This season is worse. Two weeks in, Ramirez is hitting .152 with only two RBIs and two runs. If I told my grandson one day, "Junior, this man used to have the magic," he'd call me a delirious old windbag and steal my whiskey.

And yet he is still on the Darling Asteroids. Why, you ask? Because I believe! You and I are not so different, Alexei. I was once like you. If I told my grandson that Gramps used to be the man, he'd call bullshit so fast your head would explode. But it's true.

And now? A rudderless ship of a college graduate, bouncing from temp job to temp job, blogging about his fantasy team from a bedroom he shares with another dude.

We are kindred spirits, Alexei and I. Potential unreached. Destiny delayed. Parallel lines on a slow decline. I understand Alexei Ramirez.

I am Alexei Ramirez.

And all is not lost, good sir. It was fate that drafted you, Alexei, and now we climb this mountain together.

You are an Asteroid, Ramirez! Act like one! You can be an inspiration to millions. To anyone who was counted out. To anyone whose back was against the wall. To anyone who ever felt like giving up...only to come roaring back, brilliantly tearing through the sky at infinity miles per hour, destroying all in your path.

The blond, angelic, wise, handsome Christ-like figure on LOST named Jacob (Coincidence? Nope.) once said, "It only ends once. Anything that happens before that is just progress."

This is just progress, Alexei. Your story has not yet been written. You are still the master of your destiny. For you, for me, for all of us, you must carry on, must persevere, must triumph. There will always be a spot for you on the Asteroids, my friend.

When it does end, it ends with you on the mountaintop.

I believe in Alexei Ramirez.